Cracks in the Gypsum
by Flashing The Floods
Summary: Hospital stays are excruciatingly monotonous. One more yesterday is repeating itself, same schedule and lack thereof dragging on from heartbeat to heartbeat. But perhaps there are some upcoming variations. Nathaniel centric. A somewhat continuation of Almost Routine.


**Author's Note: Stands alone, but could serve as a direct, crappy sequel to Almost Routine. A little reminder that Lynn is the chick in the Amour Sucre manga. Not my own MCL OC or anybody else's. I also find it relevant to mention that my dog is snoozing next to me and making these sucking noises in her sleep. It's cute as hell. The rating is for some cursing and whatnot...****  
**

You know it's only been four days, but four centuries may have well come and gone. Seconds in this place may as well be days, and minutes may as well be months. You've never found hospitals to hold any particular appeal (you'd be quite concerned for your mental health, if you did) but you weren't expecting it to be as tedious as this. There is absolutely nothing productive in here for you to do at all. You can read, yes, and have read thanks to your mother caring enough to ask if there was anything she could get for you. But as much as you like reading, it's a pastime. Not something for you to be doing to get done, but something to do in your free time. And for four days, you've had nothing but free time (can you really call it 'free' if you can't leave?). Some people might find this relaxing, but for you it's maddening.

You wouldn't call yourself a workaholic, but you do find joy in completing tasks. In busying yourself with endeavors and accomplishing things, there is solace and satisfaction. To put it simply, you like to be useful. And while you're in here, you feel undeniably, utterly, pitifully fucking useless. Your sister told you she'd bring your schoolwork, but it comes as no surprise that she's failed you in doing so. Reading and the occasional conversation with your doctor are the only things that break up the monotony. And neither of those do anything to rid you of that itchy feeling of uselessness.

You find yourself staring at the walls a lot. Maybe it's because looking at your book feels like some kind of plastic privilege you don't want to indulge in. Maybe because your mind is overflowing with continuous replays of what occurred four nights before, the dreaded incident that landed you in here and could have (nearly) cost you your life. Maybe because you think you could copy them and become just as blank and uncaring and forget how pointless you feel. Or maybe you're just astonished by how fucking _white_ they are. The cleanest white you've ever seen. You suppose that if you stare in the corners long enough, bleach will bleed down from the crease where one white wall meets the other and pool on the floor. Just like your blood pooled on the floor when you were coughing it up.

You wish you could stop thinking about that. It's unlike you to dwell on your misfortunes. You've always been the type to bounce back easily from accidents and setbacks. Now shouldn't be any different. But it is different and the fact that you can't keep your thoughts in control, that you can't prevent them from lingering on that night, just makes you feel that much more inadequate. The rest of the day is spent futilely rebelling against the sequences in your head, trying to concentrate on your book and pretend that they aren't there, and staring at the cleanly void that is the wall. All things considered, it is mundanely eventful.

The next day starts out the same. Your limbs twitch with the urge to get something done, but you remain stagnant and useless on the thin hospital mattress, and your eyes take turns glancing from dun pages to walls starker than eggshells. You answer the staff's questions about your breathing ability and comfort the best you can, and you eat when a tray of food is offered (at the same times everyday you know, though there is no clock in your room to confirm this). One more yesterday is repeating itself, same schedule and lack thereof dragging on from heartbeat to heartbeat.

It doesn't perk your interest to hear you have a visitor. It's no doubt one of your parents, or perhaps your sister is finally coming through with her promise to bring you schoolwork. Whichever one it is, they won't stay long. But a momentary distraction from this perpetual cycle of boredom is certainly welcomed, so your lips form a polite smile of greeting. When the door creaks open and reluctant footsteps carry your visitor into your room that really isn't yours at all, you are surprised to see that it isn't any of your family members. It's a familiar brunette girl with wavering green eyes and a form-fitting tank top that shows just a little too much of what you want for comfort. Lynn.

"H-Hey Nathaniel..." She looks like a fawn in the headlights. Not a deer, no, because deer are at least steady when they freeze on the spot and on the best of times actually find the sense and instinct within themselves to flee the oncoming traffic. She is a fawn, frightened and shocked and unfamiliar with the road and the situation at hand. She's unsteady and quite visibly wobbling. You offer her the most reassuring smile you can, and you know your eyes gentle when they rest on her. She is your soft spot and it pains you to fathom that she might have been worrying over you. "Lynn. I wasn't expecting to see you here. But I'm happy," you add quickly. "It's good to see you."

She doesn't relax as much as you were hoping she would. Eyes still wavering and dark with worry, she meanders a little closer to your bedside. Her legs haven't ceased their shaking. Damn. Why is she so skittish, anyway? Sure, the hospital atmosphere is a little unsettling, but it's not as if you're dying. "You look so stricken. Is everything okay?"

"I should be asking you that!" She bites her lip and wrings her hands, her shrill voice quavering and a few shiny droplets leaking from her beautiful eyes (those beautiful eyes should never cry, it twists your heart). "Amber said you were in the hospital, but she wouldn't tell me what happened no matter how many times I asked her! Nathaniel, what happened!? Are you gonna be okay!?" More tears are falling, and now she's biting her lip so hard it's bleeding. The crimson bead taunts you as it rolls down the protruding rose-pink flesh. You immediately feel a surge of anger towards your sister for being so cruelly negligent, but you bury that emotion under the impulse to comfort Lynn.

You sigh and reach out to take her hand, noting how soft it feels but also how clammy and cold as your steady fingers curl around her trembling ones. You'll have to change that. "Come here," you murmur lightly. You gingerly tug her over, scooting a bit to the side as you do so that she has enough room to sit on the edge of the bed. You pull her down onto it and softly brush her tears away. "I'm fine," your promise her, voice thick with honeyed sincerity. "I fell down the stairs and got a little messed up internally" -you skirt around the truth of being pushed and spare her the details of hacking up your own liquid ruby- "but they fixed it. I'm just here to be monitored, I suppose. I'm getting released next week."

Once again, she doesn't relax as much as you would've hoped. She does seem to calm down a bit, as no more tears come streaming from her eyes. But those eyes aren't glimmering with relief or softening with reassurance. They're glinting warily and drawing back from you a little bit. Just enough to notice and just enough to hurt. "You...Fell down the stairs?" The blood is drying on the lip she's no longer biting, but her mouth is still frowning and you can't place its intention. "I did." Your enunciate the confirmation with a nod of the head. Her hand stiffens under yours as she looks away from you, as she looks to the pristine empty walls you've been staring at for the past four days. "That's what you said when I saw the bruises on your back."

Oh.

Oh the _irony_.

The next few minutes are spent in silence.

"I guess I'm a klutz," you finally breathe. Lynn's eyes find yours once more. She must be getting the mental message you're sending her to please not press the matter, because for once, she doesn't push you. She doesn't ask any more questions. Her pine depths give you a nervous once-over and her voice drops an octave. "You're really okay?" You nod, squeezing her hand again and rolling your thumb over her supple skin in slow, comforting circles. "I'm really okay." She takes your other hand and smiles with a trace of her everyday radiance. "Thank goodness! I was pretty damn scared, you know."

"Trust me, I'm going to talk to Amber about that. It's ridiculous that she frightened you, when she should have been putting your fears at rest." You shake your head and shake the disdain away, attempting to leave that as it be for the moment and instead focus on the lovely girl in your presence. "So have I missed much at school?" She shrugs, silky brown tresses sliding up and down her shoulders with the motion. You hope you're not blushing when you inevitably think that you'd like to run your fingers through them. "A little bit," she tells you. "You know how crazy our school is. You missed Peggy getting suspended and the principal deciding we're going to have a bake sale. And the fish tank getting put into the hallway upstairs."

"What did Peggy get suspended for? And why did we get a fish tank?" Lynn rolls her eyes and goes on to tell you that Peggy was caught taking her inquisitive nature up to eleven when she followed Mr. Faraize home just to find out about some miscellaneous sports event with another school. And that the fish tank doesn't seem to hold a purpose other than decoration. From there you spend the rest of the afternoon chatting about this and that. She asks you how the food is here, because she's always heard bad things about hospital food. You honestly tell her that it's not that bad at all. Not your beloved bento, but good enough. You ask her how that obscure aunt of hers is doing and she breathes a laugh, answering that her eccentric relative is fine, and yes, she does still pop up at school every now and then bearing odd gifts that range anywhere from buttered toast to baseball bats.

You converse about things that don't hold any significance, about idle topics and silly details. The Rose of Versailles t-shirt she ordered in the mail. The cute tabby kitten she saw on the sidewalk when she was walking here, and vainly wishes she could have brought in. The mutual agreement that your room should have a window so you two could people-watch the parking lot. None of it matters, really. Except it matters to you. It keeps your mind from venturing back to the incident and soothes away the burn of uselessness. It holds personal importance, and that's more than enough. From the look of her, Lynn also throughly enjoys spending the day away with you and trivial words. She doesn't leave even though you assure her you understand completely if she has other obligations, or even better things to do. She in fact stays the whole of her allotted time with you, only getting up when a nurse prompts her with a scowl and an intimidating wave of the clipboard.

"Can I come back tomorrow?" She looks at you with a sheepish smile, inching slowly towards the door with backwards steps. You're not sure why she asks. Likely because it's the polite thing to do, but there's no way you'd tell her no. "Of course. And feel free to bring your homework. I'd be happy to help." You can't help grinning at the way pink rises in her cheeks when you say this. You know her, so you know she hasn't finished tonight's homework. Visiting you is a valid excuse. She knows you. And she knows that you know she hasn't finished tonight's homework and probably figures you don't approve. "Heheh. Okay, Nath." She waves to you and departs, smile still on her face.

The warmth of her hands is still tingling on your palms. It's a nice sensation. Nice. Simply nice. You lean back and close you eyes, savoring the feeling. Seeing Lynn has infected you with some much needed cheerfulness. You suppose maybe you shouldn't be that happy, considering she's just seen you in a state that's deemed vulnerable, and undoubtably pitied you (if there is one thing you hate, it's being pitied). But somehow that all seems less important. The twinge of discomfort you feel upon the realization pales in comparison to how inspiriting it was to be with her. Like taking a breath of fresh air after respirating on smog. You let yourself feel good for awhile.

Friday. It is Friday isn't it? Lynn came to visit yesterday, and you can swear she said something about it being Thursday. So that would make today Friday, obviously. Unless the world decided to flipflop on you and disassemble the days of the week. Is it sad that you don't know what day it is? Yes. Yes it is. That's why you're trying so hard to remember. You could always ask one of the friendly white-coated staff the day, but having to ask is just as sad as staying oblivious. It irritates you to no end that you've fallen into such a disorganized state that you don't know what day of the week it is. This really won't do. It really won't do at all. And you have another three days to spend like this. _At least._ You recoil as you recall being told you'd be here for _at least_ a week, meaning that in all reality your sentence is indefinite.

But you don't see why they would keep you longer. There haven't been any complications or anything of the like. It hurts a bit when you take deep breaths, but they told you to expect that. So you should stay positive and tell yourself that in three days, you'll be out of here. There's no logical explanation to keep you here longer as of yet, so you're being ridiculous even worrying about it. Pushing your concerns off to the side is easier said than done, but you're able to mask them with different concerns and tuck those under thoughts of things you're sure you'll have to do once you get out of here. But maybe you should be thinking about more pressing matters, like whether or not to eat the lime jello today.

You're nonplussed when Lynn comes waltzing into the room for the second time this week. School can't be let out yet. It's much too early for that. "Is today Saturday?" Your eyes fix on her curiously. You internally berate yourself for asking, because that is far from the proper way to greet someone and is in fact downright rude and you'll have to apologize for it, but it just slipped out. You have to know if you've messed up the days of the week. You simply _need_ to properly realign your timetable. "Um, no? It's Friday." So it is Friday. What a relief. She blinks dubiously, rocking back on her heels and you notice she's holding something behind her back. "Why?"

"It just seems early. You're not skipping class, I hope?" You give her a stern, scrutinizing stare. As flattered as you'd be if she would skip school just to see you, you just can't approve truancy. "Nope. Lunch break, Nath." She grins and pulls out the boxed secret she's been concealing behind her back, lightly bouncing on tiptoe to close the distance that separates you. "And I brought you something. I know you said the food here is good, but this is better. Err- I hope it is anyway. I got it from a store, so I'm really not sure." You take the plastic black rectangle from her hands, the familiar shape exciting your taste buds. She brought you bento. No lime jello in your immediate future after all.

"I'm sure it's good. Thank you Lynn, this is a nice surprise." You remove the top to survey the gift of onigiri, sausage in the shape of octopi, and hard boiled eggs. You would be genuinely touched by the courtesy, even if you didn't find the lunch appetizing. But you do, oh you do. You're ready to attack it with the provided chopsticks, when Lynn's nervous chuckle interrupts. "That's not the only surprise." Why does her voice flutter like that? It isn't like you're a hardened critic. She didn't have to bring you anything at all. You're just warmed she thought about you. "It's not?" You offer her a bemused, prompting smile.

"What would you say if I told you I didn't come here alone?"

"Oh. Um. Who else is here?"

"Melody, Iris, Kim, Violette, Lysander, and Rosalya." Another nervous chuckle crosses her lips. "I know that's a lot of people, but when I said where I was going everyone just kind of wanted to tag along. Everybody's been really concerned for you." Heh, yeah right. You're not that popular. It's probably just that the outing appeals more than the routine of eating at school. You're understandably uncomfortable. With just Lynn it's fine, but having an additional six classmates invited in to view your moment of perceived weakness puts you on edge. But you can't say no. They're already here and refusal is not only impolite, but it only strengthens the misconception that you're not alright.

"That's fine. A little unexpected, but they always say 'the more the merrier.'" You flash Lynn a chipper show of the teeth and watch the tension in her shoulders ease. "Good." She returns your smile and departs to fetch the others. You take the mere moment of solitude to comb through your hair with your fingers and take a deep breath (ouch) and prepare yourself. You're met with a chorus of greetings as Lynn leads the merry bunch of your classmates over the threshold. You return them with a wave and Melody bounds right over, a plastic bag in her hand. "I saved all the work you missed," she pants and holds up the bag. You can see through to the semi-thick folder inside. There's an improvement. "Thanks."

"This is for you too," Violette makes her way over, holding out a folded piece of yellow construction paper. You incredulously accept and unfold it. As you peel one flap over the other, you suppose you're expecting a card. That in itself is a bit of a surprise, considering you don't talk to Violette all that much. She's sweet, but she's definitely one of the shyest girls you've come to know. But it isn't a card. It's a wonderful little cat sketched in colored pencils, tail in the air and a paw over its face as though it's grooming itself. Refined little feline, isn't it? "Oh, thank you, Violette. This is really good." As unusual as it may be to get such a gift, you can't deny that it's well drawn. She offers you a small, amiable smile and retreats to Kim's side.

"I hope we're not imposing on you," Lysander murmurs, shooting you an uncertain glance. Concealed apology flickers beneath the surface of his visage. You shake your head and wave a hand dismissively. "Not at all." Yes, showing up here without asking or giving you real warning is imposing a bit. But as flustered as you are, it's nice to see familiar faces and the people kind of close to being your friends. And again, anything that suspends the agonizing monotony of this place is welcomed. "Please, make yourselves comfortable." They do so. But there are a limited number of plastic chairs in the room, leading Lynn to sit on your bed once more and Violette to sit on Kim's lap.

"So how are you doing?" Iris voices the obvious question one asks of a person in your position, her sea-green eyes attentive as they search you. "Just fine. I assume Lynn already explained why I'm here?"

"Yup," Kim pipes up, her head shaking in half-mock disapproval with her short ebony locks bouncing against her cheeks. "You gotta be more careful on the stairs, bro. You could've broken your neck." You smirk slightly, making a mental note to bear this in mind (and how about mentioning it to your father, hm? Though you have the inkling he already knows).

"Kim, that's not really the most encouraging thing to say..." Rosalya gives her a pointed look.

"Well it's true! My cousin broke his neck falling down the stairs last year. He died too, and was only twenty-four years old."

"Okay! I'm changing the topic now." Lynn waves her hands and shuffles around the hospital bed, now sitting with her legs crossed and nearly shoulder to shoulder with you. "Can you toss me my lunch, Melody?" Melody complies with a quick nod and the next thing you know, there's salami and asiago on croissant sailing across the room. You suspect the force she's whipped it with isn't quite an accident. Her jealousy of the girl who stretches beside you to catch the packaged sandwich, isn't a secret.

"It seems I've forgotten mine," Lysander hangs his head. Kim claps. "You owe me five bucks, Vi." The amethyst-haired female sighs and sets aside the veggie wrap to paw through her coin purse. "You two actually bet on whether or not I was going to forget my lunch?" Embarrassment creeps into Lysander's face. Poor guy. But you can't help laughing. You try keep it mental to spare his pride and your side, though a soft chuckle or two escapes. "You can probably buy something here," you inform him. "The food's pretty good too."

"Oh, I know. I've been here before." He smiles slightly and you can't help wondering why. "For a CAT scan?" Kim's lime pools teasingly flit to him. "That's mean!" Lynn scolds her from across the room, but with croissant crumbs on her lips she's hard to be taken seriously. The dark-skinned female insists she was only joking and Lysander doesn't seem to be too perturbed, if a bit annoyed. He excuses himself to purchase food and conversation begins to bounce from person to person. Naturally, as the objective of your classmates' outing, It starts with you. When you're coming back to school. How you're doing. Do you think you could help with this problem when you get back, or if not this problem, then maybe that problem.

The predictable bases are covered by the time Lysander returns with a styrofoam bowl that carries the pleasant aroma of cooked potatoes. You learn a lot in the colloquy that follows. Rosalya has started to make bracelets in her spare time, a hobby she enjoys quite a bit and is warmly encouraged by her fashion-inclined boyfriend. Iris is currently petsitting for a neighbor after school. The pet in question is an imported python that is likely illegal and sends chills down her spine every time its forked tongue swipes out of its scaly mouth. Violette has entered a landscape drawing in the local art show. Melody found herself a romance series in the library that she absolutely adores. Kim has tickets to a motorcycle race, which she's invited Lynn to since Violette politely declined. Lysander has a gig tomorrow, with his older friends at a place you wouldn't quite call a bar.

They're all involved with something or another and you have _at least_ three days of purgatory left to go. Not that you're resentful, you're much too mature and decent to feel something like that. You're a bit envious, perhaps, but that's the very most of it. It's fascinating to learn these little fun facts about your almost friends and your smile's an earnest one as opposed to the pearly facade you initially assumed you would have to wear. Lunch even catches you off guard by flying by too fast. You part ways with temporary farewells and turn your attention back to the schoolwork Melody brought you when you're left to yourself and the walls once more. Your fingers skim through the folder's contents and settle on an English essay.

You're eager to get started, but there's one significant issue. You don't have a pencil.

How typical.

Oh well. You immerse yourself in reading over assignments you have to do. Just because you can't get started doesn't mean you can't commit the material to memory. You don't have anything better to do. It can't take any longer than a half-hour to finish and feels like it took even less. Back to hollow tedium. Or so you think. The resumption of a bland afternoon does an about-face the moment a leather clad, redheaded irritant strolls into your room. Your eyes instantly narrow and a perfect twitch passes over your features. "What are you doing here?"

Castiel returns your irked glower with a level one of his own and strides over, placing a white frosted cupcake on the plastic bedside table. "Giving you that." The mildly sweet scent of vanilla mingles with the distinct aroma of sugared dough. How delectably nauseating. "I hate sweets," you chirp brightly. He grunts softly, hands jamming into his pockets as he shifts back a step or two. "That's the point, genius."

"Why are you really here?" You're positively baffled. Even more confused to see him than you are vexed. You and Castiel interact as little as possible, despising from a distance and refraining from dealing with each other unless it's necessary. And yet he's purposely sought you out. "Lynn was pushing me to come. Said it'd be polite, or some shit like that. She wouldn't quit nagging me about it. Probably still has the idea in her head that you and I are gonna get along because of that one thing getting...resolved." He rolls his eyes. You smile smugly. "Ah, you mean how I never touched your lying bitch of a girlfriend and actually tried to warn you about her." Lynn's silly for thinking that filling in the blanks of that truth would change anything. Though you suppose you can't be annoyed with her for wanting peace.

He flinches ever so slightly and you almost don't catch it. "You're lucky you're already in the hospital, or else I'd beat your ass. And speaking of that, what are you doing here anyway? You gonna die?"

"As if I'd do you the favor." Your grin seems to broaden by the second. It's all very likely you're just baring your teeth. "To tell you the truth, I'm just fine."

"You don't look it." The smirk accents his words as much as his features. Were you just as undignified as he is, you'd pick up the cupcake so kindly offered to you and throw it in his face.

"Oh, but I feel it and that's what really matters."

"Hn. Well, I'm out." Castiel whisks around and saunters for the door, raising a hand in a casual wave.

"See you next week." _Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out_, you think but don't say just for the sake of being civilized.

He pauses, glancing back to you over his shoulder with something that resembles great disappointment. "Next week, already?"

"Yep. I told you I'm fine." So you don't exactly know for sure you'll be back in school next week, even if you finish your sentence here. There's nothing like skirting around actuality in the face of an adversary.

"Eh...I guess that's not the worst thing in the world." He shrugs his shoulders and you're minutely stunned. "Some people there think you're kinda useful, Nat. As long as you stick with them and keep the hell away from me, I guess it's not horrible that you're fine."

Wow. That's almost a compliment. You feel a ripple of unease.

"Castiel?"

"Hn?"

"Your opinion on this, and anything else for that matter, means less than nothing to me," you tell him gleefully, "In the future you should save your breath." Your grin is so wide it's aching your cheeks to keep it on your face.

He flashes you the finger and leaves.

Now that's much better. But perhaps you should have asked him if he had a pencil beforehand.


End file.
